


given and taken

by kkumhua (kkumeii)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Bad Ending, Blood and Gore, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, M/M, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Mirrors, Murder, Mutual Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romeo and Juliet References, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships, its yumark as romeo and juliet but very twisted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkumeii/pseuds/kkumhua
Summary: Mark was terrified. About this hunger inside him and how it desired to consume. But Yuta was more than willing to be ruined.Or: A college student finds his muse, and what starts out as pure fascination leads them down a road of destruction.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	1. Praefatio

**Author's Note:**

> **Please read the tags before continuing.** The tags will be updated when new chapters are posted. Reminder that this work is completely fictional and characters do not reflect their real-life counterparts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mali principii malus finis._ A bad ending of bad beginnings.

Mark was terrified to admit the things he liked.

It was an irrational fear ingrained in the blueprints spanning everywhere his body. The very blueprints that allowed him to exist and live. It determined everything about him; his appearance, personality, interests, and who he would become. And in return, it charged payment in the form of his life. It was like a parasite, vitiating its pitiful host without consent. But in this case, it was a true parasite—one that existed even before the beginning of his life.

It took root in his childhood, developed its stems during the years of puberty, and bloomed its invasive buds into something so hideous when he reached adulthood. Before Mark knew it, something that coexisted with his very being permeated his nurtured garden.

When Mark was little, he had a naïve mentality. The naïvest kind that anyone could look at and pity whoever possessed such a pathetic way of thinking because it would and _will_ destroy its owner.

Mark thought everyone was kind—one of many words regularly used by those unable to apprehend how little of a thing could hold so much subjective value to them. Mark was one of those people, his untainted mind ignorant of the cruelty human beings have to offer.

In his mind, everyone liked the same things he did. So, he talked about his favorite things with other people, regardless of whenever he knew them or not. Because why would he be so disengaged about the things he loved to other people? After all, they all shared the same features; the features of being physically human. But his obliviousness looked over the distinctions of being mentally and emotionally human and how they were different in everyone.

At a daycare that Mark attended when he was young, he approached two girls one day. They were sitting on a playmat and playing with dolls in their hands, giggling in their bubble of delight. The girls seemed about the same age as him, with their chubby cheeks and bright eyes looking at the boy who came up to them. His eyes darted to the dolls in their hands, and a little smile formed on his face. He spoke in a soft but timid voice to try to be polite and not overwhelm the girls, his eyes sparkling in suppressed excitement:

_Can I play with the dolls, too?_

Mark could never forget how instantly his smile had dropped at the sight of their disgusted faces. He knew the two girls were not looking at him with such distaste because some of his lunch was on his face or clothes. It was not because he mispronounced the words or slipped up the grammar because children are still learning communication and language skills at his age.

It was because there was something wrong with _him_.

One day, he asked his parents to buy him a guitar. He told them that he felt inspired by observing a street performance hours ago when they went out to eat. His eyes twinkled in pure anticipation as he told his parents he wanted to learn how to play like that because they would get him a guitar. _Why would they not?_ A guitar was not as pricey and high-maintenance as adopting a pet. Mark also has been working diligently to get good grades in school. So why would they refuse to buy something he wanted and worked hard to be worthy of receiving?

The fierce scowls of disapproval on their faces told Mark everything he wanted to know without him needing them to utter a single word.

His parents looked exactly like the two girls back then. A pair of faces wordlessly watching Mark like he was a criminal on the run.

His parents never got him the guitar he wanted—and he knew exactly why.

_Music is not a stable career choice. Music is not honorable to his family. Music is not enough money for a person to live a comfortable life._

And above all, his parents concluded that Mark would _never_ make music work.

During high school, Mark invited a couple of his friends to listen to his rap. Despite lectures from his parents about how there was no merit in going into music, Mark still wished to pursue his passion. And part of it was thanks to his older brother.

His capable older brother set an example for him to follow. Something Mark was told by his parents when his brother got admitted into a top university with a full-ride scholarship. On the other hand, Mark saw him as a kind older brother, who secretly bought musical equipment for Mark and hid it in his room to prevent Mark from getting caught red-handed. He trained Mark on how to read music and play the guitar. His brother was the only one who urged him to follow his passion for music. So when he moved away to finalize his medical education, Mark needed some fresh ears to listen to his lyrics.

Mark was introduced to rapping by his older brother. He brought home a couple of magazines about rapping from his friends, who were looking to throw them away. His brother chose to take them, believing that Mark would be interested in learning how to rap. Mark had been writing lyrics since he was young without really understanding what they were. And when Mark showed him one of his pages, his brother gathered that he had the capabilities to hone the skill. The brothers worked together to improve his abilities, even as they were both blind to this field. But eventually, his brother needed to concentrate on his studies. So, they agreed to stop their lessons. As begrudged as Mark was at this decision, he acknowledged that his brother already did so much for him. Mark refused to take more of his time away from him. So he decided to ask his friends to meet after school in a classroom where they regularly hang out to do homework and play games. Because he knew these people for a long time and his friends knew Mark enjoyed the whole genre of music. Mark was sure that they would listen to him and give their thoughts because all of them were friends.

Mark wished he never had this mentality of his. This absurd vision of life has been with him all his life. Without it, he would not have to deal with the torture that came with blindly trusting everyone. He thought people could be respectful of his interests and leave him to enjoy the things he loved to do, even if they disliked it. Because it was what people were supposed to do, right? People were bound to be interested in other things. They would not appreciate it if someone mocked what they like—

His rap was interrupted midway by the sound of his lyric paper ripping in half. He recoiled as he saw his friends—if he could call them that anymore—rip his hard work to shreds, only to rub salt in the wound by treading on it with their shoes, leaving prints on the white sheets of paper. They snickered, calling him lame and a loser before leaving the classroom. 

Mark stood in place, shook to his core as the deafening silence crumpled his throat of words. The hot tears behind his eyes begged to be released, to help Mark free all the emotions bottled up because he just witnessed the people who he thought as friends destroy his hard work. They crushed something he loved and cherished, stepped on it like a bug with the soles of their shoes.

He reminisced of his older brother and how he always encouraged him to cry whenever he felt overwhelmed. He said it was healthy to express emotions rather than bottling it all inside. Suppressed emotions were a volcano: dormant and bound to erupt one day. Mark thought that his brother was giving himself advice. But he was not moved by his words. Instead, he felt regret about his brother and all the effort he put into teaching Mark how to function in this society because their parents never bothered to teach him.

Mark refused to show himself to the world from that day onward.

So, when he first read Romeo and Juliet a few years later, he never told anyone about how he enjoyed it.

It was not the murder aspect that he found interesting, although he was sure that someone in his class did. It was not the ridiculous plot of family feuds resolved by their children committing suicide either.

It was unconditional love.

The relationship illustrated in the play enthralled Mark. More specifically, how disposed both were to drop everything in their life to be together. At first, they were just two strangers attending a party. One of them reluctant to be there and the other with their heart stolen by another. Yet, they became lovers at first sight. Infatuation evolved into a yearning in a matter of a few hours. They wanted to see each other once again, even as they became aware of their identities. Pining turned into desperation to be united as lovers. Their passion fueled their desire to become one, and they swore their lives for each other.

Their love escalated beyond the point of return. It was a burning ship bound to sink into the consuming waters of the ocean beneath them.

Their situations became dire. They became willing to die for each other, to be happy together without anything separating them. One jeopardized their life in a plot to run away with the other. One drank fatal poison to join the other when they felt the empty heartbeat and cold skin because they could not bear the thought of being abandoned. And when they woke up to find their lover had gone ahead, they stabbed themself to ensure that they would always be together.

Before, Mark never understood the lengths people went through just because they loved someone. But ever since he read Romeo and Juliet, he imagined finding his other half, his soulmate. A person who was as willing as he was to enter the depths of hell and endure the most unmerciful torture to be with the other. Because Mark never had someone who would go through that for him.

All that Mark ever craved was for someone who loved him. Someone who would abandon everything to stay by his side, even after knowing who he was. Someone who would appreciate him and his heart so devotedly like it was the most prized treasure and because it was. Someone who would vow to be with him through thick and thin. Because he knew that no matter who the person was, even with the whole world against them, their love would be _constant_.


	2. Unus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Omnium rerum principia parva sunt._ The beginning of all things are small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My update schedule will likely be every two weeks but since my schedule doesn't allow me a lot of time to write, I cannot say when I will finish the next chapter.

Mark groans in frustration as he scribbles out yet another measure of notes that he finds unsatisfactory, the patience for his own capabilities wearing thin. The messy zigzags match the previous staff filled with similar black markings. And the one before that, and before that one as well. Noticing how the pattern completely takes up the entire sheet, he lets out a sigh in disappointment, which might be his tenth today. Mark crumples the page into a ball and hurls it into the oblivion of his dorm room. He never bothers to glance back and see where it lands—even as he knows his current disregard for creating a mess will bite him in the ass later.

The time is already six at night, and Mark has his music composition class right at nine sharp tomorrow morning. And like any good college student, he did not finish his work.

A couple of days ago, his professor assigned the class to draft a self-composed song. And Mark was ecstatic about this.

After graduating from high school, he moved to Korea with the aid of his older brother. The distance gave him peace of mind from his overbearing parents, who disproved of him both studying abroad and his career choice. Since he was young, Mark was pressured to follow in his footsteps. But no matter how hard Mark worked, he never managed to pick up the skill for medicine.

His life upturned when he received the opportunity to travel to Korea and take a music composition course. But Mark was in a predicament, and it was not about the language barrier. Both he and his brother were taught Korean at home, as his parents were immigrants from South Korea. So even if he stuttered a couple of times and overused the word _like_ more than a typical person should, Mark could put his knowledge of the Korean language into use. The problem was with his parents. But his brother, who was supportive of him since the beginning, spurred him to go despite their wishes. He knew how oppressive their parents were to Mark, so he helped him keep a secret and pack his bags until the morning of his flight. His brother managed to hold their parents back at the airport, flashing a thumbs up with a wild grin—something he never saw from him—as Mark waved goodbye from the terminal.

Only when he stepped into the bustling cities of Seoul did Mark realize how ambitious his goal was. He was intimidated by this foreign country and what it had to offer. He could have been studying back home in a familiar place with and in a language that he perfectly understands. Mark could have gotten the degree back home and not have to perfect his Korean to graduate. But he has already flown thousands of miles, arriving at a country that speaks his second language—which he really is not that proficient in. And Mark reminded himself of what his brother said: making music is not all that different across the world. So, he tried his best to fulfill what he has set himself up for.

He settled down in his new room in a dormitory near the university, a single that came with the program he was in to study abroad. His brain consistently worked overtime as everything was jarring to the ears since it was in Korean. He managed to snag a part-time job to fend for his expenses and improve his speaking skills, knowing that he has to adapt to this new environment. He tried his _absolute_ best to make some friends without his natural awkwardness slipping out. Unfortunately for Mark, it was inevitable. But at least he managed to befriend a couple of good people, or so he likes to believe.

The first couple of weeks in his music course were straightforward, learning the basics and drilling through assignments. Except it was more of a challenge since all the terms were in Korean, and Mark had to pull out an online dictionary every time he tried to do his work. But once these units were completed, his professor finally allowed his students to write some music.

Mark rushed home from his part-time job at a cafe and pulled some pens and blank music sheets, freshly printed from the library because he could not afford a printer and ink, out of his bag and onto the desk. He dived into his chair, uncapped a pen, and set the first sheet down with a slam on the wood. Mark set the tip of the pen down on the fiber of the paper, the blessings of adrenaline running through his veins and mind. Mark waited in anticipation for the inspiration to hit him until after a solid minute that he realized: he has no idea what to do. Mark was focused on the fact that he finally could write some actual music that his artistic senses contained no inspiration by the time. Mark napped that afternoon at his desk so that at least he was productive in getting some good shut-eye. He'll pat himself on the back for at least doing that.

The days passed as his musical competence went on vacation without notice and left him to inhale the dust from driving off into the sunset, his musical thoughts equating to zilch. Even as he attended the other classes that he is forced to take and worked his hours in the cafe, his brain came out completely blank. Somehow, it has come to Mark writing down whatever seems the best hours before the draft is due. Except Mark is somewhat of a perfectionist—his parents’ influence is partly to blame—and refuses to write down pure nonsense for this assignment that he has labored so long to do.

He runs his free hand through his hair as the other taps the pen on the new sheet, his brain engine firing up but only combusting out a puff of smoke.

“This is hopeless…” Mark laments as he stares into the blank ceiling of his room, body going limp like a ragdoll in his chair when he rolls his pen away. Fatigue starts to meddle with his body, so Mark decides it would be a smart decision to rest a bit. Maybe it could help freshen up his mind, so he can actually write some comprehensible measures on the sheet. His plan is interrupted by the ringing of his phone, vibrating on the edge of his desk. The black screen lights up to the caller ID, and Mark recognizes the two Hangul characters.

 _Renjun_.

Huang Renjun was one of the few friends Mark has managed to make in the last few months he has been here. He was also a bilingual student, growing up speaking Mandarin and Korean. Talking about their shared lingual struggle reassured Mark, and he was glad that he met a decent person.

Mark reaches for his phone from his static position and slides his finger across the screen. He holds the phone against his ear and calls out. “Renjunie?”

“Mark-hyung, are you free right now?” The caller questions from the other line, but Mark hardly catches his soft voice in the sea of sounds from wherever he is. From what Mark can tell, the collective noises are a mix of dishes clattering, sparks of food sizzling, and chattering of words. Renjun's voice seemed a bit on edge for some reason, but Mark wasn't sure why. He eyes the blank papers on his desk, his hands fidgeting with his sweatpants while working to formulate a response.

“Um, can I ask why...?” Mark’s tone is unsure, his voice pitching up a bit at the last word. Mark curses at himself for his horrible communication skills and worries that Renjun would ask if something was up. But Renjun continues on with the topic, much to his relief.

“A rich senior is holding a barbecue party and basically allows people to invite whoever they want. I hope you didn’t eat yet since we’ve already ordered food for you.” Mark lets out an _ah_ of realization, knowing that the background noise was obviously coming from the commotion inside of the restaurant.

“Wait, did he reserve the _entire_ restaurant?” Mark stammers out, eyes widening in bewilderment at the amount of money it would cost. It was already one thing to host a barbeque party for a large group because of the high costs per person. But reserving an entire place for a night was too bizarre for Mark and his limited budget.

“Yep, that’s why—Donghyuck, that’s _mine_! Grill your own meat!” Mark jumps in his seat when he hears Renjun drop his phone on the table. The loud clatter startles him as he discerns the faint cries of Donghyuck and exasperated grunts of Renjun rumbling in his ears.

Lee Donghyuck. Another person, who Mark befriended during his time in Korea, has a habit of mercilessly teasing Mark at any given opportunity. Scratch that, Donghyuck never gives up the chance to make fun of anyone, which is likely why he sounds like he’s being strangled to death by Renjun. Mark raises an eyebrow and continues to listen to whatever was happening, recognizing some of the voices as his seniors and juniors cheering at his friends’ antics. He’s relieved when he hears Renjun’s voice through the phone again.

“Anyways, if you want some free food, you might wanna hurry before Donghyuck decides to steal yours next. I’ll text you the place. See you, hyung!”

“W-Wait, hey—“ Renjun hangs up before Mark can sputter out a proper response and farewell, leaving him speechless in the silence of his room. He moves his phone to the front of him, the digital clock teasing him as the minute changes again, edging closer to the next hour. Mark purses his lips while he glances at his unfinished assignment on his desk.

It’s not like he was being productive anyway, so what harm could going out to eat with his friends bring? But the angel in his brain warns him that he really needs to finish this work and should be prioritizing it instead of going to a barbecue place. Indecisive, Mark juggles the options for how to spend his night, leaning on one side before moving to the other but then shaking his head and moving back to his first spot.

His internal crisis was solved by the loud rumbling of his stomach. The sudden noise causes Mark to flush in embarrassment and cover his arms over his tummy, even though he lives alone. Mark remembers that he didn’t have lunch that day. He decided to skip some of his meals that week to cut back on his expenses because it’s nearly impossible to live on just wages from a part-time job. So, free food was very tempting to him as of now.

Letting his hunger get the best of him, he hops out of his chair and walks to his closet, scrambling his clothes for some ripped jeans and a thin hoodie as the weather is starting to cool. He changes out of his sweatpants and throws on the hoodie on top of his white t-shirt, not bothering to zip it up as he grabs his phone and keys. Mark turns off the lights from his lamp, drowning the room in the dye of the night. The small span of light from his phone screen illuminates the room as Mark clicks on the link Renjun sent him, opening the navigation app and pinpointing the location. The place is nearby, just a couple of blocks away, so Mark opts to walk there rather than to take a taxi and pay its fare. He turns the doorknob, peering back at the unfinished papers on his desk with wistfulness before shifting away. He leaves his room, locking the door behind him with a click.

Mark steps out from the entrance of his dormitory, huffing a breath into the chill air. He pulls his hoodie closer to his body, the shifting weather being colder than he anticipated. Mark feels a chill run up his spine and looks to the sky as the culprit. Up above, the moon displays its sly grin, teeth pearly white like the Cheshire Cat in the obscure colors of a night in Wonderland. The thin curve is faint in the twilight but prevalent to taunt Mark with its scheming presence. He narrows his eyes at the new moon before turning his head to the street and jogging to his destination.


	3. Duo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Consuetudinis magna vis est._ The power of habit is great.

Mark pulls open the door to the barbecue place after some hesitation and rapid pacing in front of the door, which he shortly ended when passing strangers gave him weird looks while traveling towards their destinations. Pacing around was just another bad habit he could not seem to break, especially when entering unfamiliar places where he has no idea what to expect.

With a crack of the entrance, wafts of smoke and char envelop his senses, the warm air contrasting against the fresh cold air from outside that started to tingle his nostrils. He huffs a breath to summon some courage for the task ahead of him and steps into the dimly-lit place. He observes the sight of orange lights blossoming from the ceiling and the vibrant glow of the flames from underneath the grills brightening the dark restaurant. Once his two feet are fully planted to the ground and the door securely shut behind him, Mark takes a quick look around to survey the area. Unfortunately for him, he tenses up when he sees gatherings of unrecognizable faces.

Mark could admit he wasn’t the most social person in his university. He didn’t mind the occasional social event but, anything more than his maximum capacity of ten people started to freak him out a little. He would usually head for a corner or a separate room because the overstimulation often left him feeling suffocated. His vulnerability caused him to be at the center of attention in some awkward situations, giving him all the more reasons to avoid crowds. The embarrassment that flames up within his chest each time is already a terrible feeling he has to go through.

Mark feels at ease when he recognizes Renjun waving from a booth far away from the main entrance, which was highly populated for some reason, considering the chilly weather. Taking a deep breath, he silently walks over to where his friends are, head down and avoiding eye contact from the strangers surrounding him. To help, Mark stares at the worn-out tips of his shoes, faded over the years and colorful fabric reverting to threads to distract himself from looking up. But even with his head down, Mark swears he can feel the burn of stares from strangers, looking at him like he’s the odd one out of the tens of people there. Mark swallows, his dry throat only bringing attention to how tense his stomach was and how his palms started to sweat, making his hands clammy and unpleasant.

He manages to calm himself down when he finally takes a seat next to Renjun at the large table. Mark audibly gulps when he sees the crowd his friends had gathered, numbering about twenty or so.

“You’re late, Mark-hyung!” Chenle, an endearing junior of his calls to him in a not-so-quiet voice as he approaches the table. “Donghyuck already ate three bites of your fried rice.” He points a finger towards the culprit, who hears his name and smiles cheekily. He shoves another piece of grilled meat into his mouth, his cheeks filled with food like a squirrel. Chenle appears and holds a plate of kimchi fried rice topped lightly with cheese and a sunny-side-up egg in front of Mark, the bright orange rice no longer steaming and instead lukewarm. “Here, eat up.”

“Right, thank you…” Mark receives the plate of food from Chenle gently with his two hands, bowing his head slightly. Chenle raises his eyebrow at the sudden respectful gesture but turns away to busy himself with grilling some of the many types of meat the group ordered.

Mark picks up the clean spoon next to his napkin and scoops up a pile of rice into it. He looks at it, murmurs a grace like he's been doing since he was young, and digs in. Cleaning the spoon of food, Mark sets it down gently as he chews thoughtfully on a mix of seasoned rice, spicy yet sour kimchi, and juicy pork. He nods to himself in approval of the food served, carefully noting to take some time to go here again with a lot fewer people.

He proceeds to work through the plates of food on the table. A couple of pieces of pajeon. A bossam wrap by Renjun, who insisted on feeding him at least once. A samgyeopsal wrap by Chenle, who got jealous seeing Renjun feeding him from the other side of the table. A bite or two of some naengmyeon, perfect to soothe over all the spicy food Mark's been eating despite the colder weather. And more spoonfuls of his kimchi fried rice. He’s mid-bite on some japchae noodles when his ears perk up to the bells of the door ringing.

“Yuta-hyung! Sicheng!” Mark hears a voice from the table exclaim, but he couldn't pinpoint the owner with the amount of noise. Mark stops his chewing almost immediately when he hears the two unfamiliar names. He glances around to the twenty-or-so people at the table, narrowing his eyes in concern as he thinks, _isn’t this enough already?_

Mark tenses, now aware that there will be two new additions to their party, and silently hopes that they would be the last of it. He cuts off the remaining noodles held in his mouth, listening closely to the sets of footsteps approaching and increasing in volume by each second.

But when they finally halt, Mark resists looking up. He couldn't bring himself to learn the identities of the newcomers, even when he’s asked to scoot over to make room for them and awkwardly slides down his plate and himself in silence. But he had nothing to worry about, as the two were already in an entirely separate world even before they entered the restaurant.

"What do you wanna eat, _sweetheart_?" Mark nearly chokes at the sound of a pet name, followed by some strange talking which Mark could only assume was some cooing.

A much deeper voice than the previous one interjects, "Hyung, I can get my food by myself." His tone, albeit a bit annoyed, seems softer. Like he didn't want to bother the other man with getting his food.

"No, no, Sicheng-ah. I'll take care of it for you." The person, which Mark presumes to be Yuta, replies in a soothing voice. Mark overhears the clatter of a plate and someone standing up beside him. In the corners of his eyes, he observes thin arms moving and grabbing food from the variety of dishes their party had to offer. Even as time passes and Yuta sits down again, Mark watches through his peripheral vision.

A feeling of ugly jealousy and desire grows in his heart but he shoves it down before it develops into something more unruly.

“Mark, you’re here!” Mark darts his head up from his plate to Ten, a dance major at his university, who currently has a loopy grin on his face while he holds a cocktail in his hand. He’s not sure how drunk Ten is yet, but considering how he's not slurring his words yet, Mark guesses that the drink the man has is light on alcohol.

“Share a drink with me! It’s been a long time since we last drank together!” Ten cheers louder than necessary, catching some glances from the other tables. He puts down his colorful cocktail and grabs a soju bottle from the table before Mark could protest.

“Uh, I’m good, hyung. I really have to finish some work tonight…” Mark trails off, a bit taken off by his sudden request. Ten clicks his tongue, letting out an exasperated sigh as he waves the bottle in his hand.

“C’mon, one shot won’t hurt you,” Ten looks at him, his eyes awaiting an obedient yes as the only response to his demand. Mark indecisively darts his eyes between the clock and soju bottle before reluctantly nodding. He stands up with a sigh, extending a small shot glass with two hands towards Ten. Mark wordlessly regrets even accepting the alcohol as Ten tips the soju bottle, acknowledging that drinking when he has an assignment due the next morning is possibly the worst idea ever. But even before Mark can close his eyes in regret, he hears a flurry of yells and screeches before he’s roughly shoved forward from behind. Unprepared, Mark loses balance and drops the shot glass, causing it to clatter against the wooden table. Out of instinct, he stretches his arms to the nearest object and hopes for a safe landing as he shuts his eyes to steady himself for the unpleasant impact. As he feels gravity take over, his hands touch something and promptly grasps it, squeezing it as he falls.

Mark hears a loud thump in his ears but no impact from the cushion of the seats. Seconds passed, and there was still no discomfort in his body. Bewildered, Mark opens his eyes.

Blood red.

Mark used to think he could only see bright pigmented hair color in anime, but the pile of reddened locks in his vision betrays him. His eyes meet another set of eyes, equally as startled as his own. He mindlessly tightens his grip, regarding the shape of his shoulders through his clothes. His eyes glance towards long lashes, plump lips, and a choker around a neck.

 _Pretty_.

Mark only realizes he’s pinning a man down when whistles and clamors from the table start pouring in. He feels his face heat up as blood rushes up to his neck, and he immediately staggers back onto the floor. Noticing how shocked the man was, Mark feels the need to apologize. But he becomes aware of the attention to him.

So many pairs of eyes concentrating on him and anticipating his next moves to add to this show. He feels the eager audience waiting for the next set of lines and actions to be performed for the sake of their entertainment. And if he messes up, they would still laugh at him anyway.

Mark shakes in terror, the pressure exerting onto him all at once with no mercy. His heart thumps rapidly in his ears, his brain narrows down in a frenzy of scattered thinking, and he feels a course of adrenaline seeping through his veins. He senses heat swelling in his chest as it gradually makes its way to his head, numbing some of his reasoning. His line of sight is shaky, along with the rest of his body. Despite this, his vision sharpens on the front door of the restaurant.

His leg twitches, and in a moment, Mark is running straight into the darkness of the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! And yes, our dear Winwin is Rosaline. :)
> 
> Next update might not be for a while since I need to focus more on my life this spring lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> If you would like to check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/kkumeii) where I will likely cry over trying to write this then please do so.


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